Vagabond's Valse
by aranenumenesse
Summary: She called him The Vagabond.    Rogan.
1. The Vagabond

Vagabond. That's what she called him. Every year, same day, same hour he walked past her house. Like a clockwork. Sturdy boots thudding against the pavement. Worn jeans hugging his thighs and hips. That old, brown leather jacket hanging over his shoulder if sun was shining, glistening wet and zipped up all the way if it was raining, tattered knapsack hanging from his left shoulder. Eyes cast to the ground in front of him, jaw set, frown on his face as if he were thinking of something important. As if there was somewhere he needed to be. Something he needed to do. Every year, same day, same hour. Vagabond.

Then came the year when she finally decided to call him. Ask him to come inside if it was raining. Ask him to have something to drink if the sun was shining. Ask him his name, because she had gotten curious, and rather tired of calling him the Vagabond.

Instead of raining or scorching sun the weather was windy. Instead of walking he was riding a motorcycle. And it wasn't her front yard where she met him.

Small scraps of paper and other debris rode in the wind along the streets. Sky was steel grey shield. It would rain later, but right now air was dry and cold. Unusually cold for this time of summer. She shivered and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. When she had gotten out this morning sun had been shining. It had been warm, so she was wearing a light, green dress. It wasn't warm anymore, and the dress kept flapping against her shins in the wind that tried to rob her shawl and spun her long hair full of rat's nests. She was half running, careful not to twist her ankle. Heels of her shoes were not too high, just something little to add some of her stature. She had been walking around the town for the whole day, window-shopping, enjoying the weather and waiting. Waiting until it was time to return to home to see the Vagabond.

But now it was entirely too cold. She hurried towards home, and unfortunately chose the wrong short cut. Never go to dingy back alleys, she could hear her mother's voice ranting in her head. But it was too cold to take the longer route. And it was in the middle of a day.

When two figures blocked her path she gasped, still more out of a surprise than fear. Nodded her greetings for them and tried to go past them, two burly men she knew were her neighbors. She had often chatted with their wives, and even few times babysitted their kids when she was younger.

"Not so fast, snotty bitch!" She heard one of them huffing, and the other grabbed her hand, yanking her backwards, sending her crashing against hard brick wall. She hit her head, and for a moment she saw nothing but stars. She could feel something inside of her shifting. Twirling, twisting and tumbling around wildly, as if something had gotten knocked loose when she hit her head. There were two pairs of hands on him. Both holding her in place and tearing off her clothes.

"You have been asking for it, now we're going to give it… You'll be a good girl now, Marie…"

Then suddenly there was nothing supporting her, nothing to hold her in place. Something had clicked inside of her, locked on, and both men lay twitching at her feet, frothy saliva bubbling from the corners of their mouth, their eyes rolling backwards in their heads. And she was running. Running blindly towards stray shred of sunlight that shone through a gap between steel grey clouds. Roar of heavy engine alerted her, and before she realized a motorcycle swerved past her, tires skidding against the pavement as the driver tried to gain back control he had lost when she had stumbled to his path.

She could only stand there, frozen in the middle of the road when motorcycle rumbled to her side.

"What the fuck were you thinking, woman? Running like a headless chicken, you could get yourself killed, for Christ's sakes!" She could hear the driver ranting. She noted absently how much he resembled the Vagabond. She had just gotten nearly raped, and nearly run over by a motorcycle, but the Vagabond was standing there next to her.

"What's your name?" She finally got to ask. The Vagabond narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. She could have sworn he was taking in her scent.

"What the fuck… Are you on something? Forgot to take your meds this morning?" He asked. She shook her head. It was important.

"What's your name?" She asked again. The Vagabond evaluated her wit suspicious look on his face.

"What the hell is going on? Has something happened to you? You look a bit frazzled…"

"Tell me your name, goddamned! It's important!" She knew she was screaming. Standing practically naked in the middle of the main street, screaming her lungs out to a complete stranger, but it was important to know his name, she had been wondering about it for six fucking years already, and unless she was speaking complete gibberish how hard it was to understand a simple question and answer to it?

"Logan. My name's Logan. Ma'am, you have to calm down a bit…" The Vagabond kept his voice low and reached with his left hand, grabbing her shoulder, then yanked his hand back as if he had gotten stung. It didn't matter. She had gotten what she wanted. Her knees gave up and she slumped on the pavement at his feet, relieved. Finally she had a name to go with the man she had gotten used to call the Vagabond.

"Uh… You really can't stay here… Ma'am? Hey… Uh… Shit. Goddamned-un-fucking-believable-fucking-shit…" She felt something warm landing on her shoulders.

"I'm going to give you a ride to the nearest hospital. I'm going to lift you up now, don't scream, okay? I won't hurt you." Strong hands curled around her, one going under her knees, the other supporting her back. She could feel hard muscles shift under his clothes when he straightened his back and jostled them both on the motorcycle. Suddenly she realized what must have happened at the alley.

"No. No hospital. I think… I think I'm a… A mutant…" She stuttered. It was hard to talk. She was shivering and trembling all over, her teeth chattering so hard that she bit her tongue.

"No shit. Kind of figured that out when touching your bare skin hurt like a bitch…" The Vagabond… No. No Vagabond. Logan. Logan murmured.

"Where to, then? You got a home?" He asked. She curled tightly against his chest. He felt warm.

"It's just around the corner… White house, white fence…"

"The one on Magnolia Street? With that small gazebo at the backyard?"

"Yes… How did you know about the gazebo? It's behind the house." She asked puzzled. Logan smirked.

"Spent a night in there last summer. Hope you don't mind."

"Oh…"

Now she remembered. It had been raining the whole day. Heavy torrent of water battering the ground. She had sat by the window, waiting. She had waited the whole day, and he hadn't shown up. Later that night rain had turned to hailstorm. She had gone to bed hoping that wherever the Vagabond was, he was sheltered from the stinging bits of ice.

"Home, sweet home. Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital? Or… Or call the police?" Logan asked. He had driven slowly, and had parked the motorcycle in front of her porch.

"No. No hospital. No police. I don't want them to know… The people around here don't appreciate mutants. If the word gets out that I'm…"

"I can smell at least two different men on you. This is just a wild guess, but they were trying to rape you, right?" Logan asked. She nodded, still trembling.

"They knew you. And you dropped them with your mutation. Right?" Again she nodded. Logan shook his head.

"The word's out already. At this time tomorrow KKK has probably camped out on that porch of yours. If I were you, I'd pack my stuff and get the hell out of Dodge."

She climbed off from the saddle with shaky knees, her gaze sweeping over the house, the yard, and the neighborhood. The place she had spent her whole life, from birth to this moment. Her parents had left the house for her in their last will. And now something as stupid and menial as a mutation was threatening to take away her whole past?

"I have nowhere to go… This is my whole life. These people… They're my only family…"

"Newsflash, lady. They stopped being your family from the moment your mutation kicked in. That's the way it goes. Seen it happen before," Logan grunted, starting to turn his motorcycle.

"Wait!" She couldn't let him go. He stopped and looked at her, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"At least let me make you some coffee. As a thanks for… for helping me out there…" She stuttered, then remembered his jacket that was still draped over her shoulders.

"And you almost forgot your jacket…" She let it fall from her shoulders and offered it to him. Logan shrugged his shoulders and took the jacket, stepping off from the motorcycle.

"Coffee sounds okay."

"Unless of course you have somewhere to be…" She mumbled, stumbling towards the stairs. Strong hands scooped her from the ground and Logan carried her to the front door, careful not to touch her bare skin.

"Have nowhere to be. But I guess you had that already figured out…" He grunted. She blushed and started fumbling the keys from a flowerpot that hung beside the door.

"I'm sorry if I have made you uncomfortable. It's just… This town isn't exactly the party central. And I'm not exactly a party animal. I work in a library, for God's sakes. The most exiting thing in my life is the weekly "New Releases" –letter I get from the publishers. You were… You were something to wait for. Something different… Where is that key?" She huffed, fingers grazing the dirt in the pot. She heard Logan grunting behind her, felt the warmth radiating from him when he reached with his hand, his fingers nearly brushing hers in the pot.

"I know what you mean. It hasn't been sunshine and roses for me either. I guess that's what drew me in to this direction at first place. This is a nice looking neighborhood… Here." He had found the key and gave it to her. She pushed it in to the lock after brushing off the dirt from it.

She guided him in to the kitchen and excused herself, hurrying to change her torn clothes. She was practically naked. Her bra and underpants left very little for imagination.

"Much better…" She huffed returning to the kitchen. She had put on jeans and a green, figure-hugging shirt with long sleeves. Logan flashed a brief smile.

"Could argue with that…" she blushed again furiously.

"Sorry. Bad habit," he offered sheepishly.

"Don't worry. But I promised you some coffee. Though somehow that doesn't sound decent compensation for your troubles."

"Hey, it's not every day I get a good looking half naked chick on my bike. Having coffee with her is just icing on the cake."

"You're easy to please," she muttered and started loading the coffee maker.

"I'm easy, period."

They waited in silence for the coffee.

"Oh, I forgot to do my groceries. I don't have any milk or sugar. Black okay with you?" She suddenly remembered.

"I prefer black. Hate that crap they call coffee nowadays. All that cream and sugar and candy in it…" Logan grimaced, seemingly offended for the mere thought of sweetening his coffee. She poured him a large, steaming mug, then chose a smaller one for herself. He took a careful sip from his coffee and nodded.

"This is good."

"Should be. My momma used to make it like that. Just a pinch of cinnamon in it."

"Cinnamon? Never would have guessed. One chick I knew drank hers with cardamom."

"Cardamom?"

"Well, she was a telepath. I guess she was entitled to little quirks like that."

"A telepath? She was a mutant? This woman you knew?" She asked. Logan nodded.

"Just like you. Just like me. One big, happy family of muties. Whole shitload of them, back at Xavier's."

"Xavier's?" She asked.

"Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters. It's in N.Y. A school for mutants. And now I'm supposed to give you The Speech. The Big Speech with Big words and try to persuade you to move in there, because they could really use a good librarian, and mutie librarians are so goddamned hard to come by. I think I'm going to skip over it and just ask if you'd be interested to move in there?"

She closed her mouth when her inner mom piped in and told her how rude it was to stare at somebody and drool like you were somehow retarded. She had fallen off from the wagon somewhere around when he said something about a speech that he was supposed to give to her. Only thing she had heard after that was the part where he asked if she would like to move in to this school that sounded quite magical. And little too convenient seeing her current situation. How the hell a drifter even knew about a place like that?

"So? What is it going to be? Are you going to wait here and enjoy the show when KKK incinerates a cross on your front yard, or do I call to Xavier and ask him to pick you up?" Logan asked. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She must have misunderstood him somehow.

"Wait. There's a school for mutants in N.Y.?" She asked and opened her eyes. Logan nodded.

"And they need a librarian? A mutant librarian?" She asked. Again Logan nodded.

"And what are you? The coach of their football team?" She asked.

"Art. I'm an art teacher."

"Nice try, mister, but no dice…" She smiled, scooting slowly towards the phone on the wall. If she were real quick, she could probably get the line to the police before he… He dug a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and threw a small plastic card on the table. His driver's license. Then another one. Teaching permit, and the name and ID number on both cards matched. She picked them up.

"And how do I know these are not fake?" She asked, waving the cards in front of his face.

"You don't. But you can call to any of the numbers listed to the back of those cards, and they will tell you who I am. Hell, you can call to Xavier if you like, I got his number in here somewhere…" He started to rifle through his wallet again. She handed him back the cards.

"Fine. I believe you. It's just a weird consequence, you showing up just when I need help."

"Not a consequence. I come through here every year. Call it a dumb luck," Logan said.

They finished their coffee in silence. She took the empty mugs and washed them quickly, then sat opposite Logan again.

"How would I get there? It's a long way from here to New York. And what if they decide not to hire me?" She asked.

"I'm heading back there myself. I could give you a ride. And they will hire you, trust me."

"Trust you? I just met you!"

"I could have said the same when you proposed the coffee. Look, here's the number. It's Xavier's private line. Call him. Ask anything you need to know," Logan huffed, flipping a small square of white cardboard over the table. Number was written on it with blue ballpoint pen. She grabbed the phone. His steady gaze met hers over the table when she punched in the number.

"Logan?" Voice of an older man answered, with no usual greeting, but instead of a question.

"This is Marie D'Ancanto. With whom am I speaking with?" She asked.

"Well, this is unusual… I could have sworn… This is Charles Xavier. You have called in to my office. How may I be of your assistance, miss D'Ancanto?" Man asked.

"I'm sitting with a man that claims he's working for you. Teaching art for mutant children."

"Oh, yes! Well, that certainly explains where you got this number. I presume you have talked with Logan?" Voice on the other end of the line asked.

"Yes. In fact he's sitting right in front of me. And he had an interesting proposal for me. I have gotten in to a situation where it's very hard for me to stay where I live any longer. He said that you could hire me as a librarian to your school."

"Yes. Yes, we have been looking for a… For a librarian for quite some time already. I'm sure you will fit right in. If I may ask, when could you start working?" Voice asked.

"But… You don't even know me, you haven't seen my portfolio or…"

"I trust to Logan. I'm sure he wouldn't have asked you to join to our staff if you weren't suitable for the job at hand. Now, will you be needing help with arranging your move in here?"

"No… I guess… Logan's already promised to help me out, but…"

"That's… That's most unusual… But I trust things will go well. I'm looking forward of seeing you, miss D'Ancanto. Have a good day."

"Well?" Logan was clearly waiting for her decision. She took a deep breath; fiddling with the card he had given her earlier. He snatched it from her fingers and placed it carefully back to his wallet.

"Speak up. We don't have the whole day. It's going to rain soon."

"Uh… Yes. I believe you. I believe you're who you say you are. And Xavier was ready to hire me."

"So?"

"Yes. I take the damn job. It's not like my life could get any worse."

"Trust me, it could. But only if you stayed here. Start packing. I'll go and get my truck."

"Your truck?"

"I left it back to the motel. You thought I drove all the way here from N.Y. with that bike? Are you nuts, woman?"

"Marie. My name is Marie."

"Nice to meet you, Marie D'Ancanto. Now move that ass. Get moving. I want to see some bags and boxes on that porch when I get back," Logan said smirking and stood to leave.

"Wait! What should I pack?" She panicked. She hadn't moved once in her life.

"They're probably going to torch this place tonight. Take everything important."

* * *

"Jesus! I said everything important! Not everything!" she heard Logan huffing. She eyed her coming mode of transportation with suspicious eyes. It looked like somebody had taken fairly decent pick-up truck, added generous amount of rust and one banged up camper van and stirred briskly. Then, as an afterthought that somebody had added several packets of bubblegum, spit and wire. She hadn't seen more horrendous excuse of a vehicle in her whole life.

"You drove that from N.Y. to here?" She asked.

"Beats walking. And back pains from sitting too long on the bike," Logan grunted, throwing off the tarp that had been covering a trailer hitched to the back of the heap of rust and started packing boxes and suitcases next to his motorcycle.

"You drove it all the way here?"

"Yeah."

"It just… It looks like you could maybe get it past my driveway if we both gave it a good shove…"

"Looks worse than it is. Keep nagging and I'll ditch you to the nearest buss stop…"

"It's fine. It's… It has four wheels and it's probably moving."

"Five."

"Huh?"

"Five wheels. Always keep a spare in the back."

She climbed to the passenger's side and tried not to think too hard about the stains on the seat when she sat down. Logan climbed to the driver's seat. She reached for the door handle.

"Be gentle. Truth to be told that door hasn't been used for a while. Might fall off if you slam it too hard," he warned her. She swallowed and closed the door as carefully as she could, buckling the seatbelt immediately. Logan started the engine, then started patting down his pockets.

"Now where the hell did I put them…"

"Lost something?" She asked.

"Yeah. My glasses. I'm blind as a bat without them. Well, can't be too hard to go without, as long as we stay out of the main roads…"

"Oh, God…" She grasped the door handle when the truck lurched forward and spluttered and shook like it was going to fall apart at any second.

"Relax. It gets worse only if we go faster than sixty miles per hour. I have earplugs somewhere in the glove compartment…"

"Oh, God…"

They had driven about half an hour when Logan suddenly turned the truck to the side of the road and turned off the engine.

"What?" She started to panic. They had left the town for good while ago. She was in the middle of nowhere with a complete stranger, and that said stranger was sitting behind the steering wheel, wide grin on his face and staring at her.

"This is fucking priceless."

"What? What is priceless?" She asked, rolling up her sleeves, baring as much skin as she could without compromising her modesty.

"That look on your face when you saw this piece of utter crap. You really thought I drove this heap of junk from N.Y.?" Logan asked.

"I don't know. That's what you said. You didn't?" She asked relaxing slowly.

"Hell, no. God, I was afraid that this would fall to fucking pieces to your front yard!" Logan huffed.

"Then… How… what…"

"I came here with my bike. I called to Xavier from the motel and asked him to send somebody to pick us up."

"But what about this truck and…"

"I won this last night in the cage. Guy got in with nothing but this heap of junk to back him up."

"In the cage? You fight for money?" She asked.

"Occasionally. When I'm bored. But hey, we should get our stuff from the trailer. Better get ready before Summers gets here…"

She could only stare in awe her new mode of transportation. Sleek, dangerous-looking black jet had landed on the field not far from the truck. The pilot was currently helping Logan to load his motorcycle and her belongings in to the loading bay. For some reason both men looked awfully tense and uncomfortable, trading words only when it was necessary and avoiding each other's gaze. When they were ready the pilot stomped in to the jet first, leaving it to Logan to help her in and seated.

"Strap your ass down, Wolverine. Don't want to scrape your carcass from the back wall after we get back home," pilot's voice came through the intercom. She glanced at Logan who sat obediently and buckled his seatbelt.

"You have strange friends," she noted.

"Can't blame him. After all, I killed his wife," Logan grunted, then the lift-off prevented her from speaking.

Killed his wife? She was about to speak up when the jet leveled, but Logan opened his seatbelt and stomped in to the cockpit, closing the door behind him. She could hear sharp snap from the speakers when somebody turned off the intercom. That move left her alone with her thoughts.

Her Vagabond was a murderer? What kind of people she had gotten tangled in to? What the hell was going on? She peered through the small window on her right and saw nothing but clouds. She tried to reason. Perhaps it had been an accident. Those things always happened. At least in the movies. Logan didn't seem like a cold-blooded murderer. Maybe it had been a car accident and the pilot blamed Logan for it. A car accident. Or something else as easily explainable. Had to be. Or else she was in deep shit. Drowning in to hot steaming pile of crap. Had she really been that stupid that she had left her home with a stranger without telling anybody where she was going?

She rolled her sleeves even higher. It had looked earlier that now her best defense was her skin. Until she knew better she'd keep her hands bare. Logan had touched her only briefly; fleeting brush of his fingers and in his own words it had hurt like a bitch. Surely she could fend him off, fend off anybody who tried to hurt her now?

Intercom rattled bringing her out of her thoughts, and she shrieked from the surprise.

"We'll be landing soon, miss D'Ancanto. Fasten your seatbelt, please," the pilot's voice was calm and professional. She felt the jet tilting forward and peered through the window again. Clouds disappeared to somewhere above her. She could see a huge mansion down below, in the middle of lavish looking gardens. She spotted a stable, several tennis courts, and something that looked like a basketball court. It parted from the middle, opened like a flower, revealing a large, metal-coated hall under ground. The jet hovered above it for a while, then landed slowly. She felt a soft jolt, and soon after the door of the cockpit opened. Logan walked towards her with a deep frown on his face.

"Scott… The guy with the visor… He'll take care of you. I have something… Something came up. I'll see you later…" He stuttered, then jumped off from the jet and disappeared from her view.

First hour she spent with Scott Summers eradicated all her fears and doubts. The place she had gotten in to was actually a school for mutant children. The people she met were happy and friendly, and if Summers had seemed uptight and gloom at Logan's company, he was quite the opposite now that Logan had vanished. She took instant liking to the man. He had given her a brief tour around the campus and they were sitting outside in the garden when Scott suddenly stood up. A woman was approaching them. A beautiful black woman with hair as white as snow. Scott was smiling at her.

"I want you to meet somebody. Ororo was teaching a class when we got in here… Honey!" He called the woman. The woman smiled and waved at them.

"Ororo, I'd like you to meet our new librarian, Marie D'Ancanto," Scott introduced Marie.

"And this is my wife, Ororo summers. Or Storm, as kids like to call her."

"Your wife? But… But I thought… Logan said… Isn't she dead?" She stuttered perplexed. Both Ororo and Scott cleared their throats, looking uncomfortable. Finally Ororo spoke.

"Logan may have said something. It happened many years ago, and there's no reason to discuss about it further. Now… Tired of Scott's company? Hungry?" She asked. Marie nodded. She really was hungry, and she had a feeling that it would be for the best if she followed Ororo rather than stayed with Scott who had suddenly lost his interest to her and was staring at the toes of his boots.

"I'm sorry if I said something wrong. It's just… Logan said something on our way here, and I assumed…" She started to apologize when she walked side by side with Ororo towards the main building. Ororo sighed.

"Maybe it's better to clear it up for you. But remember. We do not talk about this thing," she said sitting down to a stone bench next to the front door of the mansion. She sat next to the woman.

"It all happened several years ago. We had just met Logan. Or more accurately, we had just found him. Something bad had happened to him. He was a wreck, emotionally as well as physically. We brought him here to get help and to recover from his ordeal. At that time Scott was married to our doctor. Beautiful woman called Jean. Jean Grey. She was a telepath among other things. She could see and hear what other people were thinking. It was her gift and curse. At first everything was going well. Logan was making progress. Therapy with professor was helping him when he was tackling with the trauma inflicted on him. Then he started getting nightmares. He was dreaming about things that were done to him. Every night. It was better for all of us to let him deal with those dreams on his own. Safer for everyone. We still don't know what happened that night, but for some reason Jean had woken up. She had probably thought that Logan was awake. Or she was going to wake him up. That's the kind of person Jean was. That's what she did best. Took care of other people. She had probably gone to Logan's room to wake him up, because she could see glimpses of his nightmare in her head. Logan… Logan thought that she was one of the people that had hurt him. He… He killed Jean. And left soon after that. Nobody blames him for what happened, not even Scott, but Logan couldn't cope with what had happened. This is the first time he's back here after he left."

After Ororo finished her story they sat in silence for a moment.

"Still hungry? I sure do hope you are. Our cooks make mean meatloaf…" Ororo said, small smile on her face. She thought about it for a while. Then nodded.

"I guess I could eat. I just feel so stupid… Butting in to things I shouldn't… I'm not usually this nosy and blunt, you know?" She whispered. Ororo nodded.

"But now it's all cleared up. Come on. Lets go and grab us something to eat. We have to hurry, though. I swear these kids could easily be mistaken as a swarm of grasshoppers…"

* * *

She had gotten settled in fairly painless. The room professor Xavier had given for her was small, but it held all the necessities, a bed, table and a chair, spacious closets for her clothes and other belongings, and it had even an adjoining bathroom. She knew that most of the children that were living in dormitories shared bathrooms, and even some teachers had to do that, but due to her rather unusual mutation the professor had taken certain precautions to prevent accidents. She didn't mind. Actually she was quite satisfied with the arrangements. Only thing she was missing was Logan. The man who had made this all happen. She would have liked to thank him, but he was nowhere to be seen. She had searched through the whole campus, it was getting dark, and there was no sign of him anywhere. She had already resigned to go to her room and thank him later. Surely she would see him at breakfast.

She was walking towards the main building when she saw something gleaming in a small gazebo further down the garden. Small red dot glowing in the darkness, burning brighter, then fading in to nothingness. And it was moving. Wind brought a whiff of a cigar to her, and she was drawn towards that dot. For some reason she had always liked the scent of cigars. She didn't smoke, but she found the fragrant scent always soothing.

Following the scent she found Scott and Logan sitting in the gazebo, glaring each other wearily. Upon her arrival Scott stood up.

"See you tomorrow, Logan."

"Not if I can help it…" Logan grunted. Scott harrumphed and brushed past her.

"Good night, miss D'Ancanto."

"Good night, mister Summers…" She stepped in to the gazebo. Logan was studying the glowing tip of his cigar.

"I have looked for you from everywhere!" She started sitting next to him.

"Well, now you found me. Congrats. What do you want?" Logan snorted. She didn't let his gloomy mood creep upon her.

"I just wanted to thank you. For bringing me here."

"You're welcome. Anything else on your mind?"

"Uh… No. Just… What the hell crawled up in your ass? You seemed to be a nice guy, and now you're acting like a complete jerk?" She asked.

"Nice guy? You know jack shit about me, lady. Not my fault if I don't match your criteria."

"But…"

"Oh, for fuck's sake… I'm not a nice guy, Marie. Pretty much everyone around here can vouch for that. Go to sleep before you get an infection."

"Infection? What's wrong with you?"

"Beats me. Scott's pretty much the only person still speaking to me, and God knows it should be him avoiding me like the plague, not these other morons…"

"And you're pushing me off because…?" She asked puzzled.

"Because I'm a grumpy old bastard. Seriously, I'm not in the mood for this 'getting to know you' –shit right now. I'll talk with you later unless my feet start itching back to road again. Go to sleep."

She returned to her room, slightly worried. She had gotten to thank Logan, but she wasn't ready to let him go. Not yet. And there was nothing she could do to keep him here if he decided to leave. She sat by the window and let her gaze land on to the gazebo. Logan was still sitting there in the darkness. Just sitting. She couldn't see the cigar anymore. As she watched Logan curled on the bench on his side. Apparently he was going to sleep outside. She frowned confused. Hadn't they given him a room? That bench couldn't be all that comfortable place to sleep on, seeing as Logan had to fold himself nearly half to fit on it. She glanced towards her closet. There would be an extra blanket and some pillows. She could take them to Logan. She could.

She hadn't forgotten what had happened to the last person that had walked up to sleeping Logan. She approached him carefully, keeping the pillows and the blanket in front of her as a shield. Grass and gravel was rustling softly under the soles of her sneakers as she crept towards the gazebo. She could hear Logan's steady breathing. No nightmare then. Weren't people usually quite restless when they were having a bad dream? She stopped just outside of the gazebo. Logan lay on the bench on his side, his eyes cracked partially open.

"What the fuck are you sneaking around? Didn't I tell you to go to sleep?" He growled.

"Yes, daddy. I just thought that you looked awfully uncomfortable on that bench. Brought you these," She chirped, throwing the pillows and the blanked for him. They thumped on the floor, and Logan made no move to retrieve them. Merely turned his back at her.

"Didn't ask you to."

"Well, excuse me for trying to act like a civilized person!" She huffed, stepping in to gazebo and crouching to collect the scattered pillows.

"Civilized? You're wasting your time, lady. I'm just a fucking animal…"

"Yeah? Well, they trained you pretty well then. Haven't seen another animal that drives a car and teaches art," she muttered, more to herself than for him. Logan was suddenly up on his feet, towering over her, his heated gaze drilling in to her eyes. He grasped her arm, sending pillows flying to every direction and pulled her up from the floor.

"They trained me well enough. Want to see the result of that training?" He murmured, his face just inches from hers. And for the first time it came to her mind that maybe, just maybe it had been a bad idea to try to rouse him from the groove he had gotten in to.

"Wait! Wait, Logan! Where are we going to?" She had to run to keep up with his long strides. He was dragging her after him in the dark garden towards the forest lining the school's grounds. Suddenly Logan stopped and she lost her balance, falling on her hands and knees to the soft grass. When she raised her gaze from the ground her eyes met the cool marble surface of a gravestone.

It shone eerily white in the darkness. Delicately carved to remind a vague shape of an angel with wings and hands spread to a blessing gesture. A name was carved to it. Jean Grey-Summers.

"She tried to act civilized. Saw a man where the beast stood. And look where it got her in. I'm not a nice man, Marie. Scott knows that, maybe better than anybody else around here. He knows what to do, when to back off and shit. I suggest that you follow his example. You might live a little longer."

"I thought you didn't want to talk with me."

"Maybe I don't. Maybe I do. Right now I don't want to talk with anybody. Fuck off, Marie."

"Pleasant dreams for you, too…" She muttered, quite frazzled, but more angry. Logan laughed bitterly for her retreating back. She glanced quickly over her shoulder. He wasn't following her back to the gazebo. He was settling on the ground on his back, next to the grave. She wondered briefly what Scott would think about him sleeping there. He probably wouldn't like that very much. Then she heard it, a quiet whisper in the wind.

"I'm sorry, Jeannie…" She turned to look. Logan was lying next to the grave, one hand reached out, fingers brushing the gravestone. Moonlight revealed the wetness on his face. He was crying.

Later that night when she lay awake in her bed she heard the distant rumble of motorcycle. Logan. The Vagabond had returned to road.


	2. The Librarian

He knew it was a mistake from the moment he saw the sleek, black figure descending from the sky. It all came rushing back. All the shit he had so carefully buried under layers of booze, women and dust of the road. When Summers walked down the loading ramp and nodded his greeting he could practically taste the heady scent of Jean's blood at the back of his throat, still as fresh as if it all happened yesterday instead of seven long years back.

He managed to keep it all together, had even fairly decent conversation with Summers during their flight back to Westchester. But when the hangar doors closed and sealed him under ground he knew he had to get out. Marie would be just fine; he knew Summer's would take care of everything. He ran out of the hangar, waited for the elevator for what felt like eternity, and when the door opened he lunged in there, scaring a very confused student out of her wits, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to introduce himself or even pay any attention to the girl who stood at the corner of the elevator, clutching a stack of books against her chest. He punched the button that would bring the car to ground level. When the door opened and he stepped out he could hear a relieved sigh from behind him. At least the girl dared to breathe again.

He knew that Xavier was waiting in his office. Summers had contacted him earlier and told their ETA. He glanced towards the sturdy oak doors. From behind them he would find open air. He turned his back on them. He'd better go and talk with Xavier now. He wasn't all that sure that he could come back inside once he walked out trough those doors.

He forced himself to take the required steps through the corridors that were packed to the brim with students of all ages. Crowd parted in front of him, and he couldn't help thinking how Moses could have had some reason for jealousy. He stopped on the door to Xavier's office, hand raised to mid-air, unsure of if he should knock or not. Professor had probably detected his presence at the campus already. He felt fleeting brush against his forehead, like a hand. Then strong feeling of welcoming warmth engulfed him. He swallowed the bitter saliva and pushed the door open.

Professor was sitting by the window, his back turned at him.

"Welcome back, Logan."

"Thanks… I guess." He shuffled his feet, unsure of what to do, then stepped all the way in and closed the door behind him.

"It has been a while. How have you been?" Professor asked, turning to face him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Just fine. Found new addition to your collection. She's taking the tour with Summers."

"Ah, yes… Young miss D'Ancanto. It was nice of you to invite her here," professor said, faint smile on his face. Logan grimaced.

"Cut the crap, wheels. We both know very well that you don't want me here. Don't worry; I won't be straining your hospitality too long. I'll be leaving tonight."

"If that is what you wish to do. Then I won't be needing to open a room for you?" Professor Xavier asked. Logan shook his head.

"Don't bother. Won't need one. I rest for while and get back on the road before the morning. Might grab something to eat if that's okay with you."

"Very well. I'll inform the kitchen staff. I'm sure you find something to your liking."

"Thanks." He turned to leave, then whirled around again.

"D'Ancanto chick… I have nothing going on with her. Just met her today. She just needs a place to stay."

"You don't need to worry. We won't turn away mutants from our door, Logan. You of all people should know that."

"Yeah. Whatever. Just take care of her, okay?"

"She will be looked after. You don't have to worry over her wellbeing."

Warm, disgusting feeling lingered inside of him, sloshing around like an infection. Xavier had never really forgiven what happened with Jean, but the man did his best to hide his distaste towards Logan. That left marks to his telepathic approaches, and now his latest attempt was festering and boiling in Logan's mind like three days old open wound. He shrugged his shoulders and cracked his neck, sending students scattering to every direction from his near vicinity. Like a flock of birds from the sight of a fox.

He escaped to the back garden before the nauseating feeling got the better out of him. It was late afternoon. The people were undoubtedly gathering to the dining hall. He could have gone in there with them, there were not so many people here who even knew who he was, but rumors spread fast. He didn't want to flee from the dinner with his tail tucked between his legs just because whispers and short glances were driving him nuts. Of course he could sneak in to the kitchen through the back door. Xavier had informed the cooks, and the man knew Logan well enough to alert them for the possibility that he just might pop in unannounced. Somehow he wasn't feeling hungry anymore.

He sat on the shadow of an old oak and lit a cigar. Inhaled the thick smoke and welcomed the tar and toxins. Tried not to look at the statue on his left, partly shadowed by the forest behind it. He couldn't understand why they had to bury her here instead of the graveyard just few kilometers down the road.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the thick trunk of the tree behind him. Tried to block out scents and sounds. It wasn't working. Constant buzzing of life just loud enough to register on his radar forced him up on his feet, pacing nervously back and forth in the shadow.

He wandered to a small gazebo. New installment. Well, relatively new. It hadn't been here seven years ago, but it had already worn and weathered. White pain had chipped and wooden benches inside bore marks of regular use. He noticed few students wandering towards the gazebo, but they stopped dead on their tracks and turned the other way when they noticed him sitting in there. Word had apparently gotten out.

Later that night, after his bout with Marie he couldn't stop anymore. He had to get away from Xavier's. He took his motorcycle from the hangar. Sat on the saddle for a good while, his eyes cast upwards, eyes scaling the grey stone wall; stopping when suddenly light was turned on. It landed on him from a window on the second floor, and he could see Summers standing there, staring down at him, hands clasped to his waist, unreadable look on his face. Summers shook his head and turned away when he gunned the engine.

Gravel of the driveway scrunched under the wheels and pinged against cast iron when he drove through open gates of the campus.

* * *

Following week he tried to regain the blissful state of numbness he had managed to create almost immediately after the accident. Now he didn't have Xavier's considerable funds backing him up, so drugs were out of the question. Booze wasn't helping much, and barflies he picked up only annoyed and aggravated him from the moment he laid his eyes on them to the moment he kicked them out of his bed and the dingy room he had rented.

Yes. He had rented a room. He had gotten as far as the N.Y. City before paranoia had dug its claws deep in to him. He knew Xavier wasn't mean or stupid. The man would do anything and everything in his power to keep Marie D'Ancanto happy and satisfied. She was probably their best asset in case the already inflamed relations between mutants and humans bloomed to a full-fledged war. But he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling of worry that crept upon him every time his mind strayed thinking about the girl in question.

When everything else failed he packed his meager belongings and returned to the road, turning his motorcycle south. Following routes that had been ingrained to his backbone during six long years, fighting occasionally when he needed food or gas, or if the weather made him seek shelter from yet another dingy motel along the way.

The town was exactly the same as he remembered until he turned to Magnolia Street. Already faded scent of ashes landed on him, making him stop and park the bike to the side of the road. He walked the last stretches, stopped and stared for a long moment.

He had known it the whole time he had been driving to this direction. He had known, even expected it, but somehow it still caught him by surprise. Between two light blue houses stood charred rubble where Marie's white little house had stood earlier. Rains had already washed off most of the soot and ashes, revealed the innards of the building as it stood there like half eaten carcass. Ugly reminder of things that had happened probably soon after they had left the town with the beaten up excuse of a truck. And he just knew he wouldn't be coming this way never again. There was no reason to pass the ruins of what used to be.

That night he spent in town, beating up rednecks that were just a tad too eager to step in to the cage with him, and that were just a tad too eager and hungry for blood. Fights left him with a decent wad of cash, his own lust for blood somewhat sated, and a foul taste to the back of his throat. He had nearly killed a man. Fucker had been too stubborn to stay down after first round.

Later that week he stumbled upon yet another mutant. Young girl with the ability to control insects. He fucked with her and left her with generous amount of cash instead of contacting Xavier. Resulting fuzz would have been too big compared to the girl's usefulness in the big picture.

All in all, it took him two whole months before he found himself sitting on his bike, outside of Xavier's. Night was silent around him. He turned off the engine and pushed the bike for the last meters of the driveway to the main building. Xavier had most likely known he was coming back even before he had known it himself, but there was no reason to advertise his return further. They'd find out he was back in the morning.

He was walking around the building, back door was usually left open for late-night visitors, when he spotted light coming from the library's windows. He wandered closer, curiosity getting the better of him.

She was sitting behind a table, a candle burning next to the book she was reading. Every once and a while she jotted down notes to a booklet, then continued reading, curling a strand of hair with unconscious move around her left index finger. She was clothed from head to toe, long woolen socks covering her feet from toes above her knees, white, modest cotton nightgown shrouded her body, covering even her neck with white collar. But her hands were bare. Long, slender fingers, skin almost as white as the cotton of her gown, red nail polish looking almost obscenely dark and fresh, as the blood that had been dribbling from his knuckles last night when he had gotten in to rough and tumble with some uptight pricks at the City.

He lit a cigar and leaned against the tree growing just outside of the window, letting his eyes rest on her bent head and shoulders. Every once and a while her head rose and she rubbed her forehead, small lines appearing to the corners of her eyes as she was thinking about something. He dropped the cigar to the ground and crunched it under the heel of his boot. Walked to the window and rapped softly with his knuckles on it, startling her momentarily.

"Hi. How have you been?" She asked after opening the window. He leaned his arms against the sill and let his head rest on top of them, keeping his gaze fixed to her face.

"The same… Better… Worse… Who the fuck knows? How about you? These pricks treating you right?" He asked.

"I'm good. Prof pays well, and the work aren't as hard as I have gotten used to earlier." She was sitting on the table, dangling her feet over the edge, just above the floor, her toes barely touching the cold linoleum. Candle was spluttering in the light breeze, casting her shadow to the far wall, making it sway back and forth almost as if she were dancing in front of him, twirling along in soundless valse.

"Where have you been?" She asked. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Here and there… They burned your house."

"Those bastards!" She hissed, anger sparkling briefly in her eyes.

"South Park?" He asked.

"What?"

"Wasn't that from South Park? Saw one episode few weeks ago."

"You watch cartoons?"

"No. I was in a bar, and it was either watching South Park or no TV at all. Barkeep had some serious issues with that show."

"Yeah… So… Came to stay?" She asked. He shrugged his shoulders again. He could tell from her scent what she wanted the answer to be. He could tell many things from her scent, but everything was covered with thick layer of silent need and yearning. She was alone.

"I guess I could… I could stay for a while…"

She grabbed a set of keys from the table and threw them to him.

"I can't sleep anyways, I have some books to catalogue. My room is in the third floor, last door on the left. As long as you don't pee on the bathroom floor and don't rifle through my diary you can crash in there."

"Pee on the floor? Jesus, woman… I'll see you at breakfast, okay?" He asked. She nodded and closed the window, leaving him alone in the night.

He grabbed his knapsack from the saddlebag of his bike and entered to the building looming in front of him. Corridors were silent. It looked like everybody else but Marie was sleeping. It suited him well.

His boots thudded softly against the thick carpet as he made his way to the elevator waiting at the corner. To his surprise it now required a key. He picked the one that seemed that it could fit and choose the third floor. Door slid shut behind him and he could feel the car rising.

There were no signs of life on the third floor. Long corridor stretched in to darkness in front of him. Only scent aside from wood polish and dust was Marie's. She lived alone up here. He made his way to her door and pushed it open.

Room was small but tidy. Filled to the brim with neatly organized piles of books and stacks of papers. The bed was tucked away in the corner, looking like it was more of a necessary evil than anything else. Chair and desk in front of the window looked good. He could detect first signs of use on them, small patches on the desk where she rested her elbows; padding of the chair was slightly dented.

He dropped the knapsack to the corner, drew out his shaving kit and a towel and undressed. The people would most likely complain about late shower at morning, but he wasn't going to pass the opportunity to scrub off accumulated dirt, dust and sweat from his skin. And he had a feeling that Marie wouldn't much appreciate if he left smudges to the linens on her bed.

Half an hour later he curled on to the bed, warm, Marie-scented covers wrapped tightly around him, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Knock on the door woke him, and he sat up, rubbing his face tiredly. Sun was shining, so it was reasonable to assume that it was morning.

"Logan? You awake?"

"Yeah. But not decent. Wait a moment…" He fumbled a clean pair of jeans from his knapsack and put them on before opening the door. Marie stood there, holding a huge pile of books. He grabbed them before the pile toppled over and fell down.

"Thanks! You can put them on the desk. Hungry?" She asked, brushing past him to the bathroom and closed the door only partially to hear his answer. He could hear her sitting down on the toilet seat.

"I could eat something. You need to change your clothes or something? I can wait outside if…"

"Duh. Like there's anything you haven't seen before…" She emerged from the bathroom, peeling off her nightgown and threw it to a hamper in the corner.

"I'll just take a quick shower and we can go. Okay?"

"Okay…"

He grabbed a shirt from the knapsack and put it on, buttoning it. Then stretched back on the bed, closing his eyes and enjoying the soft humming that echoed from the shower. Voice soothed over his nerves, dulling sharp edges and wrapping his senses to fluffy cotton.

"Christ…. You have a great voice…" He murmured, eyes still closed when the shower stopped and she stepped out from the bathroom.

"Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. But it's my shower. Hence my right to sing," she said, opening and closing closets and drawers. He could hear soft rustle of cloth against skin. Noticed bit miffed that instead of heated need to get that cloth off from her he only felt mild curiosity.

"Don't know anything about art or musical values… But your voice feels good inside of me…"

"Weren't you supposed to be the resident art teacher?" Marie asked. He cracked his eyes open. She was standing in front of a mirror, braiding her hair. He could see via the mirror the smirk on her face.

"Yeah. Could probably teach those brats how to draw a stick figure if I put up an effort," he huffed, sitting up and grabbing her hips, pulling her between his knees.

"It's crooked."

She stood silent while he braided her hair again. Long brown tresses felt like silk sliding over the pads of his fingers, and rasped softly together.

"Art teacher and a hairdresser? I might have to marry you, mister," she smirked. Logan chuckled softly, then their eyes met on the mirror.

"And what would your guardian say about that?"

"Considering that you already spent a night in my bed, I don't think he would have very much to say about that issue."

"I kind of doubt that. Uh… About that breakfast… Would you mind if I took you out to eat?" Logan asked.

"I wouldn't mid a bit. Truth to be told, oatmeal is good, but it can get kind of boring if you're having it every morning."

They raided the kitchen on their way out and managed to scrounge up decent pile of sandwiches and a thermos full of coffee before cooks drove them out in the sun. His motorcycle was still standing where he left it at night.

"There's this small pond not too far from here…" She started.

"Know the place. Have been there couple of times."

They drove to the pond and took out their breakfast. Ate in silence, their gazes fixed to the pond ahead rather than to each other's.

"Are you… You're going to leave again, aren't you?" she asked. He drank the last of his coffee.

"Probably. How did you know?"

"You took your knapsack with you. Are you coming back?"

"Have to. No reason to go to Magnolia Street anymore."

She sighed and leaned against him, her gloved fingers resting lightly on his thigh. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They just sat and waited until it was time for her to go open the library.

"So…"

"Yeah…" He was sitting on his bike, on hand resting on the handlebar, other fiddling with something metallic on his chest. He pulled it over his head and handed it to her. A dog tag, with the name Wolverine and a series of numbers engraved to it. She took it and stuffed to the front pocket of her jeans.

"I'll come back for that," he spoke softly, with slightly raspy voice. She nodded.

"I'll see you next summer."


	3. Valse Triste

Every year, same day, same hour he appeared behind the window of the library. Little worse to wear. She gave him her keys and he showered, shaved and spent a night in her bed. At morning they had breakfast, and after that he left. He never stayed longer, she never asked him to. She knew now that the incident that happened years ago was just a convenient excuse for him. Excuse for moving around, never settling down. He was The Vagabond, and if he stayed, it would kill him. Neuter the wild beast in him that kept him going, the one he shackled away, kept tucked away that one night and morning he spent with her.

At first she didn't notice it. Small, fleeting touches here and there. Just little jolts of his life coursing through her veins. Brief brushes, hand against hand, fingers skimming over her cheekbone. Easy to brush off as accidents. Then one morning at the breakfast she realized how old everybody looked compared to her. Professor Xavier had died two years ago, and at his funeral she had seen the first shades of pepper in Scott's hair. Now she saw the fine line of crow's feet lining Ororo's eyes. Children that had crowded her small library as students had long ago grown up, and there were always new children stepping to their place, and maybe that had confused her to thinking things would stay the same forever.

It was the night before Logan's visit when realization hit her on the face like a ton of bricks. There she sat, delicate comb clutched to her hand, in front of her vanity. Looking exactly the same as she had looked almost fifteen years ago. Fifteen long years ago. And she knew the real reason for Logan's wandering nature. She knew The Vagabond. Knew what made his hands stray when he was near her. What made him sit closer when she wasn't completely covered. What possessed him that one night when he had grabbed the front of her nightgown and kissed her, taste of dust and exhaust on his lips when she had leaned out from the window to give him the keys to her room.

She kept the library closed the next day, blaming a headache. In reality she couldn't face them, face the newest batch of students that already looked older than she would ever look. She sat alone in there, waiting for the night. Waiting for The Vagabond.

At some time during her wait she fell asleep. There was only darkness, and a lonely figure in the middle of the emptiness, dancing waltz. Hands and feet moving graciously through the steps, every move perfectly coordinated, and he was alone. Alone in the darkness, dancing, dancing and twirling endlessly.

She jolted awake, not knowing exactly what had pulled her out of the dream. It was already dark outside. Little over midnight. He should have been there already. She sat there, not even breathing, straining her ears to catch the silent knock against the glass. And there was nothing. She sat for several long moments, holding her breath, clutching the edge of her desk with numb fingers, and nothing. Not a sound came from outside of the window she was staring at so hard that her eyes hurt.

She felt tears gathering to the corners of her eyes, but she brushed them off annoyed. It was stupid. He had never said that he'd be back today. He never said anything more than just fiddled the dog tag she now kept around her neck and promised to come back for it. It wasn't like he was her boyfriend. They hadn't even kissed apart from that one time, and apparently that had been all for him, a new way to keep her with him another year longer. She stood up and threw a last glance towards the window. Noticed a small glowing spot further in the garden. In the gazebo. Small, red dot in the darkness, moving slowly, glowing brighter for few seconds before fading again.

She hurried to the garden, following the scent of the cigar that wafted in the breeze. He was sitting in the gazebo. Worn jeans, old, brown and tattered leather jacket, sturdy boots that had obviously seen better days. And he didn't have his knapsack with him. She sat next to him.

"Hi." Next she was supposed to ask how he had been. He was supposed to answer with something witty and flirty, and ask her how she had been. But she couldn't bring herself to ask the question. Not now.

"Hi," he answered to her half-hearted greeting with hoarse voice.

"So… You came back for this?" She asked, lifting the chain of the dog tag from around her neck and handed it to him. He took it and slipped it around his neck. And again they sat in silence, she fiddling with her gloves, him puffing his cigar. And suddenly the scent of it wasn't soothing for her anymore. She didn't want it to be the one thing she would always remember him by. She didn't want to become the old maid of the mansion that started blubbering after her long lost love every time somebody lighted a cigar. She moved to his other side, hoping that the wind would blow the smoke off from her.

Logan smoked the cigar in peace, then crushed the stub under the heel of his boot. Turned to look at her, and just stared for a long moment. His hands rose to cradle her face, and his lips brushed against hers briefly. She heard him gasping softly, and he let go of her, folding half from his waist, his eyes closed, nostrils flaring when he took deep breaths, struggling to stay conscious.

"I can't do this anymore, Marie. To see them all die a little every fucking year I come by…" He spoke quietly.

"Are you going to find a new Magnolia Street?"

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to. I found it little over twenty years ago. But it's up to you, isn't it…" He said, straightening his back and turning to look at her.

"I don't have anything to offer. I don't even know if I have the right to ask. But I'm asking anyway, because I have gotten so goddamned tired of this fucking game. Will you come with me?"

It was awfully tempting to end it all here. To say no. It would all be over, she could go on with her life, grow old and wither away with people she had grown to consider as her family. There was still time to do that. They weren't that old. Then she looked at the man sitting in front of her. Really looked at him. Saw the naked fear and need churning in his eyes.

"Yes."


End file.
